Honestly

The good people of In N Out can be depended upon to ask how you're doing before they take your order. I've always thought it big of them and usually attempt to return the favor. As if either of us will say how we really are. It's a question I've answered with varying degrees of honesty; sometimes strangers can't handle the truth. (Or they look at you oddly for honestly communicating it.) Tonight at 9:58 pm, I wanted to respond, "mentally worn out and completely empty" but instead I smiled and placed my order. (Number three with onions, ketchup instead of the spread with root beer for in the car.)

Arriving home thirty minutes prior, after four hours of intense interaction with people, felt like a bombardment of needs. Superman wanted my opinion on which clothes to donate. Val wanted to talk about her chapped lip. Elaine wanted me to sing her bedtime song. I met the needs as best I could and then met a need of my own by driving away by myself. I didn't listen to the radio.

I didn't even play Ingress.

I wouldn't trade the two groups I'm a part of on Mondays for anything, but man they can take a toll on me. I'm ON ON ON (all GOOD GOOD GOOD) but when I get home I seriously need some OFF OFF OFF time.

---

Our family is looking for a new church home. I've always enjoyed observing people but I find observing people at church particularly interesting.

I know the observing goes both ways, especially in smaller gatherings, like the one we attended yesterday.

I tried not to care too much when Elaine spent most of the opening singing time with both fingers firmly (and not inconspicuously) planted in her ears. When I leaned over and quietly inquired as to the reason for her turning two deaf ears, she met me with a violent scowl and proceeded to say (loudly, so as to be heard over the song) "I'm mad because no one gave me breakfast." I was off the hook because I left the house before she was awake, but I wondered what else she told the Sunday school class teacher about her morning (which apparently had not gone well!)

Once upon a time...

...I had a blog. Turns out, I still do and I still pay for my domain name, as I was recently reminded via an email that informed me payment is due again.

I told this guy (http://bobhamp.com) (what, I can't hyperlink in the Blogger iPad app?!)  that I wouldn't ignore the urge to write whenever it next struck, and, although I've technically remained true to that I've also kind of cheated and used Twitter. 

I was reading back over my blog and I miss writing. It's very worthwhile, for my own sake; if others happen to get something out of it as well, all the better, but it's primarily for me. My creative outlet.

I'm a bit rusty.

I hit the ground running (the couch, dragging) this morning at **checks Jawbone UP data** 6:23 am when a tremendous THUD announced to everyone in the house that Val was awake and had exited her (top bunk) bed. Within minutes I heard voices from the guest/computer/sewing (read: only remaning) room which announced to everyone in the house that EG and ED were also awake. They had the luxury of being driven to our house late last night while they slept. Their father had the UN-luxury of driving (and not sleeping) AND waking up early with them.

I followed Val out to the family room and whisper-pleaded with her to please quietly watch Jelly Telly until her sister and cousins woke up (praying they were still mostly asleep.) Val had an understandable mini melt down (as I'm sure any bonafide morning person would understand) saying that she hates being the only one awake and she's so lonely and why can't anyone BE with her?! I gazed out into the darkness and sighed.

We compromised and I snuggled with her under a blanket on the couch. She watched Jelly Telly and I devoted myself to looking as asleep as I possibly could, hoping to trick my body into actually resting.

Five minutes later we were joined by two cousins and two minutes after that I surrendered the blanket and got up to make breakfast. 

My phone failed to alert me (I failed to turn on the sound after turning it off so I could more-sneakily take pictures of cousins making memories) to observie Pi Day proper, so we assembled a minitue or two past 3/14/15 9:26:53 for some silly selfies commemorating the event.

The dads bicycled 67 miles of winding, winding roads and returned red as lobsters and exhausted.

We spent much of our day driving those winding roads to meet them at the half-way point with water, gatorade, watermelon and oranges.

Had I known the extend of the winding and how long it would take us, I would have asked for someone else to deliver rest-stop essentials. EG sucummbed to carsickness on the drive back. Elaine had a few close calls, but managed to keep everything down. 

Everyone was more than happy to play outside upon finally arriving home. We ate dinner outside and enjoyed ice cream cones for dessert. 

The cousins left and I said a prayer for their exhausted father who, once again, had to drive instead of blissfully pass out out in his car seat. (Adulting is no joke!) I rounded up my journal, Bible, pack of pens, and knitting, said goodbye to my exhausted husband and tired girls as they began their Saturday-night "Daddy Daughter Night" tradition. I walked a mile or so to Panera Bread. There I sat, doing absolutely nothing, for close to fifteen consecutive minutes. 

As my energy returned, I got a text from someone who is planning to tattoo my arm tomorrow. The crazy thing is I have yet to see exactly what he came up with, mostly because he hasn't exactly come up with it yet. This is very much not at all how I am accustomed to making permanent decisions, and I told him so, but I'm curious to go along and find out whatever I find out tomorrow, step by step. If everything is a go, then I will. If it is not, then I will not. We have been talking for weeks and I have seen his sketches so I'm not completely in the dark, but still. It kinda feels like it.

Another of my artist friends has a painting of which I exclaimed, "there is nothing I don't love about this!" I hope that's my reaction to the tattoo sketch I see tomorrow. It'll make things a lot easier.

Late night lullaby

This girl just staggered out of her room in a sleepy stupor, held her arms out to me, and said, "can you sing to me?" 

So I did. Because who can tell if I'll ever get another opportunity like it?

Seven years of mothering this pure gift from God. She's all knees and elbows but we still fit, and always will. 

Philippians 2:13

I've been ignoring this dumb feeling in me, to write. I'm calling it dumb because I'm not so happy with myself, currently. 

Ignoring it because it's already late, and I'd have to find the keyboard and remember how to connect it via Bluetooth to the iPad (which I did manage to do, part way through this sentence.)

Ignoring it because I've already messed up my evening. Shall I elaborate? I shall. First, I got the kids to bed and then fumed at their restless, wall-banging appendages and their giggling and further propensity to be NOT QUIET. Second, almost an hour at the piano, ready to chop off my fingers for their ineptness, choking the music with my impatience and frustration. Third, despairing at the sight of the kitchen and nursing a feeling of entitlement--it's my anniversary! Surely someone ELSE should have to do MY daily responsibilities (entitlement grabs at any excuse, no matter how lame)--I turned around and plopped on the couch with a book. A good one, but reading feels better when I'm not using it as a means to escape reality.

The problem is that the reality I'm trying to escape is IN me. Bother.

---

Today in the parking lot at Sprouts I hugged a friend before she realized who I was. My hair is red now, and I keep forgetting. She was gracious, even as she was being accosted by an unknown redhead. She's pregnant with her fourth and her oldest is Elaine's age. How different my life could look. I have days when I'm perfectly content with my life and I have days when I'm perfectly not. 

Like maybe today. Restless discontentment eats at me.

---

Yesterday Superman crawled around in the attic, collecting birds' nests. He filled at least two kitchen trash bags full. I think each year they remake a new nest next to the old ones instead of just using the old ones. Maybe the old ones have bird cooties. Today I could hear the birds (they enter through the un-covered vent holes, under the eves) hopping and scratching away up there, tweeting indignantly. Alerting anyone who would listen that their world just changed without their permission and they weren't happy about it. Tesla climbed the ladder we used to access the attic, perched on top, and stared intently at the ceiling, perfectly still, her little cat brain probably full of ideas centering on how to acquire a whole pile of flapping, indignant birds to play with. 

---

I flopped onto my bed and tried to figure out what my deal is. Tomorrow seemed promising and hopful. I can start new tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow I'll be different and better, I'll make sure of it. But then the thought came, why wait? Are God's mercies new only in the mornings? Is it me or God that has the power to change?

Maybe I'd rather stew in my grouchiness until tomorrow. Maybe I'd rather be in control. 

Pondering my grouchiness brought another thought: it's God's will for me to be thankful. I laughed right out loud the first time I read, really READ that verse in Thessalonians. Am I willing? I checked. Nope. 

Instead I sighed and went looking for the Logitech keyborad. And now here I am.

Things to be thankful for:

1. A Logitech keyboard with fully-charged batteries. 

2. Spell check.

3. A soft black and white puppy named Daisy (not mine.)

I once told a whole room full of recovering people how hard it is for me to be truly thankful. I can't escape this feeling that I SHOULD be thankful and so dutifully begin listing the things that I should be thankful for, whether I actually am, or not. That's lying to myself, so I try to stop, but then my mind sits and spins, looking for something I am genuinnely, in that moment, thankful for. I told the room full of recovering people that I've learned that no matter what happens to or around me I can always always ALWAYS be thankful for Jesus.

And I am. 

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow (and even the next five minutes.) Beacuse He lives, all fear is (or can be) gone because perfect love casts out fear. Because I know He holds the future, life is worth living just because He lives. I suppose I could live it grouchily if I wanted, but I don't want. 

He came that I might have life, and that more abundantly. It is for freedom I have been set free, not so that I can return again to the bondage of slavery. There is no condemnation for those in Christ, so why am I insisting on it? 

It's been an off-kilter kind of day and since I'm gradually begining to accept the idea that I'm fully human and not a perfect robot, off-kilter days are okay. I may even be a little bit thankful for them. 

Thankful because they alert me to who I am instead of who I'd like to think I am. Thankful because they bring into focus all that is not in my power. Thankful because they sometimes result in my writing until I see a solution that feels much better, much cleaner, than grouchy resentment medicated with a book instead of a Presence. 

Guess where my garden will go?

Thanks to my husband, my dad and my dad's chainsaw!

It's as if someone's going on a bike trip

Becktrovert

You know you're introverted when you consider taking a walk to get away and be alone, and then decide against it because you may have to be friendly to the neighbors. That was me, earlier today. It has been an interaction-laden weekend.

---

We are finally done with Girl Scout cookie sales. I'm not sure yet how I'm going to keep track of two Girl Scouts and their respective cookie orders and boxes next year. Elaine can't wait to be a Girl Scout and Val will have moved on up to the next rank so they'll be in separate troops. Val was pleased to learn that her Great Grandma was a Girl Guide when she lived in Africa. Grandma told me she still uses the knot-tying skills she learned as a Girl Guide!

--

Speaking of introversion, I'm reading "Quiet" by Susan Cain and so far am not all that impresed or particularly captivated by anything she's written. It seems like she's trying to make a case for why it's okay and desireable to be an introvert -- "We're people too! Look at all the famous introverts!" -- and I'm already okay with being introverted so it's not particularly validating for me. Nothing in the book has really surprised me yet. I'm not very far in, though, so maybe later content will be useful. 

---

I'm beginning to brainstorm possible ways to earn a little extra income during the times both girls are in school this fall. I'll have three or so hours every morning of the week. I've considered teaching piano and opening an Etsy store for hats, dishcloths, potholders and whatever else I make out of yarn. 

Art of being me

Every morning I tell myself that toDAY is the day I will make my own toothpaste. All the ingredients (even essential oil for flavor) have been purchased. Every night I sneak a little of my husband's toothpaste while telling myself that toMORROW will be the day I make my own toothpaste.

I'm currently cleaning my face with (castor and olive) oil. It's going better than the last time I tried the oil cleansing method.

--

Val and Elaine have been clamoring for an easier way to clambor up the tree in our backyard. Today I studied an article found on the Art Of Manliness website and made a rope ladder. 

I've got mad manly skillz. 

--

My piano teacher (I have a piano teacher!) made me (well, I agreed to) sight read at the first lesson. It was awful and wonderful. I think I will like her as a teacher. She's brisk and business-like, patiently waiting for me to finish my long-winded explanation and getting right back to her point. I asked how much she'd like me to practice each day and she replied, "ideally as much as possible." I've aimed for 30 minutes a day and have achieved that so far. I'm so glad I have a reason to play. I love it. I hope I turn out to be good at it, too.

I'm particularly excited to return to consistant piano playing after a few years of recovery work. I'm chipping away at the perfectionism and performance-based system of acceptance and approval I used to not-so-gently impose on myself. Additionally, in the past I've held the belief that if I enjoy something, then it must not be the right thing. Treats for myself are extravagant! I certainly must not engage in things that bring me joy and peace on a regular basis! Only if/when I've earned it. Or deserve it. Then I can be nice to me. Anyhow, I look forward to approaching piano-playing with a carefree joy and acceptance of myself. I want to push myself and explore my limits instead of hold back, afraid that limitations may mean that I'm not good enough. I want to revel in playing simply because I like to, and it makes me happy. 

After telling my husband that I would be eternally grateful and pleased with ANY real piano in our house... I'm finding out that may not be quite true. The one we have is certainly adequate, though old. There are a few times when I'm playing loudly that SOMEthing buzzes (with varying degrees of intensity and consistency) and it's beginning to drive me to distraction. I can't pinpoint it and it doesn't do it ALL the time, just often enough to notice. Also, the action can be sluggish. I've been spoiled by my parents' and grandparents' grand pianos. Perhaps when it's time for this piano to go, a quality keyboard would be better use of our space. 

--

I registered Elaine for kindergarten on Wednesday. It's lovely to see how I've changed since the day I registered Val for kindergarten, in a swirling cloud of fear and unrelenting anxiety. A few days ago I finally got around to organizing some of the things in our bathroom and was plesantly surprised to discover my klonopin pills had expired, and there were still several left. So grateful. 

Testing

I'm using the Blogger app on my phone to post. I want to see how it does with photos. 

This is an example of the kinds of pictures I text my brother. He was making me a cutting board and I had told him I wanted it to be about the span if my hand (a tape measure was not handy. I need to memorize the dimensions of my hands and forearm, for that matter.) Then I ran across a cutting board at my in-laws house that was just right. 

Regenerate

It's times like these I'm suddenly struck with the urge to make an Insta-book out of my 2013 instragram pictures.

Half the house is in boxes and the other half is disheveled. Tomorrow we pack to go to the mountains for the changing of the years. We'll get the keys to our new (rental) house on Friday!

---

It has occurred to me that this past year has been very probably the best, most comfortable year for me in my role as "stay at home" mom. Is it a coincidence that it also is the year both kids have been at school and/or preschool most days of the week? I think not.

Caring for (very) small children does not appear to be in my naturally-acquired skill set. Both times I've done it rather poorly and have fallen apart rather spectacularly. While it's true that there were many other rather large stressors at those times in my life, I highly doubt that even if I were to have the most ideal circumstances surrounding another pregnancy and birth that it would be possible without medication.

Which makes me sad. However, I don't want to put myself or my family through anything like my postpartum experiences again.

I'm not on medication now and I (usually) feel just fine! This makes me hopeful and wistful and I've briefly entertained the thought of another child.

---

A few months ago I was shopping at our local grocery store. A lady joined me by the spinach. Her tiny infant son was in a car-seat she had placed in the shopping cart and he began to fuss. She began gently rocking the seat but he didn't settle down. Instead he began screaming that ever-so-distinctive newborn cry.

My reaction surprised even me. I wasn't expecting to feel anything as strongly as I did. I almost had to leave the store. An avalanche of feelings suddenly dumped into my awareness, triggered by that crying. My heart was racing; I felt panicky and fearful, desperate and frantic, helpless and terrified.

Sanity was a difficult thing to maintain during those first few months of a screaming Elaine and a wide-eyed, sensitive Val. Our home had been and was still endlessly under construction and chaotic and I wasn't sure whether we'd be able to short sell it or have to go into foreclosure. Superman was on the break-in phase at his new job and largely unavailable in every way. I could barely function and then I couldn't function.

It was very hard.

All of it came rushing back as I stood there by the produce, listening to this newborn do what lots of newborns do - cry.

I quickly got the remaining items on my list and then hurried to the car. I closed the door and began to cry, too.

---

At dinner tonight Val said she wishes she could have a little brother. I told her I wish that too. I know God hears us. I want to hear Him. Little brothers can come in more ways than one.